


Hearts Crossed, Fingers Pointed

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Tim is Jack's brother
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-02-27 21:55:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13257399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Failing to find an internship or job to keep him busy, Rhys returns from his first year of college with little idea on how to pass the time. However, after he reconnects with an old friend, he inadvertently finds something--or someone--that might help him keep busy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a meme ask that got really out of control! I hope you guys like it!
> 
> EDIT (3/8/18): I've changed the title from "Beer and Brothers" with the addition of the second chapter!

Despite sending out nearly a dozen applications, Rhys was ending his freshman year of college without an internship  _or_  even any concrete plans on what he was going to spend his summer doing. He’d been holding out on the hope that one of the places that hadn’t outright rejected him might get back to him at the eleventh hour, but as he’d finished his finals and started packing, he’d had to admit defeat.

Rhys had comforted himself with the knowledge that there were still two more summers before he graduated and got thrust out into the real world, leaving him with two more chances to land that sweet internship that would secure him a lucrative job and show up everyone who’d judged him by his pretty-boy looks rather than his intellect.

Though honestly? When he arrived home, he found it actually  _refreshing_ to be back to the suburbs after spending the last few months in the more urban environment of his college. Going back to his home base, in his own room and with all the stuff he hadn’t been able to bring with him, was  _nice_ , as was not having to worry about what he was going to eat without risking the freshman fifteen that had loomed every time he’d stepped foot in the school cafeterias. Dad was busy, and Mom worked part time, but the fridge and pantries were still stocked and more importantly,  _free_ , so Rhys was pretty happy.

A couple days after coming home he’d decided to take a walk around the neighborhood after a decent enough breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast. He’d laced up the sneakers that had barely got any runtime during the semester and started on an easy jog, happy to feel the summer air on his skin.

The neighborhood had changed little since Rhys had seen it back around Christmas. Some of the houses that had been mid-remodel looked a little more complete, now, the portable toilets and chainlink fences now replaced with fresh new terra cotta porches and gardens full of sustainable succulents. A couple buildings boasted fresh new coats of paint, or new gutters, or any number of little things Rhys vaguely noted were different.

He puffed, slowing his pace as he rounded a corner, now more interested in observing the buildings lining the street than really pushinghimself to exercise. Eventually he slowed to a walk, sticking his hands in his sweatpants pockets.

Most of the houses looked the same, aside from a slight change in foliage due to the nascent summer season. The very same bundle of olive trees flanked the far side of the Springs’ house, and as Rhys drew near the very familiar barking of Zoomy echoed from beyond the front gate as the fat little daschund scratched his paws up against the mesh.

He stopped for a moment to coo at the dog, chuckling as it yipped louder and hopped around in little circles. Rhys wondered if Janey had some dog-walking she needed done over the summer. Might be a good way to make money, and he liked dogs well enough, even one who thought they were still a puppy like Zoomy.

As he continued down the sidewalk, he expected to next pass the Lawrence house, resting in the shade of Janey and Athena’s huge, rustling olive trees. The house was a sight he’d gotten used to in his teenaged years, when he and Vaughn typically swung by to pick up Tim on their way down to the shoreline to hang out.

But as he walked beyond the trees, expecting to see the dumpy, pale yellow home with the sagging white crown molding and spare lawn, he found there was no longer anything there.

* * *

Later that night, at dinner, Rhys decided to bring it up to his parents.

“So,” Rhys piped up as soon as he swallowed a mouthful of cauliflower, “I was out walking today and uh, the place where the Lawrences lived isn’t like….there, anymore?”

“Oh. The Lawrence house was condemned during the spring….didn’t we tell you that?” his mother questioned.

Rhys figured they might have, but perhaps he’d forgotten due to over-focus on exams and projects and getting into the habit of doing his laundry once a week.

“Probably…did something happen to Tim? Or um. You-know-who?”

“I would have thought Tim would have told you…she passed a little after the New Year.” Rhys’ eyes widened.

“Oh wow…”

“It might be a good idea to give him a call? I heard he had moved in with family, but I’m not sure what happened beyond that…”

“Y-Yeah.” Rhys nodded numbly. “That’s probably a good plan.”

As soon as dinner was over and his plate cleared, Rhys rushed to his room, yanking out his phone and scrolling to Tim’s contact info He dialed it and flicked it on speaker, praying that Tim hadn’t changed his number. He nervously tapped the side of his phone at the dial tone, heart leaping when it stopped with a click and a familiar voice echoed throughout his room.

“Hello?”

“Tim! It’s Rhys,” he chimed, giddy feeling in his belly. He hadn’t realized it’d been so long since he’d actually spoken to one of his closest friends.

“Oh my god,  _Rhys_ , it’s been forever.” Tim sounded pretty good, which was encouraging. At least that meant he probably wasn’t living on the streets.

“Right? You know how it is. College and stuff.”

“Oh yeah, I know Mr. Smart Guy.” Rhys could practically hear Tim’s smile. “So what’s up?”

“Dude, I saw your house, or uh. Where your house used to be,” Rhys corrected, his mouth open to give Tim his condolences when a happy little chuckle fed from the other end of the conversation.

“Yeah, right? Good riddance.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve got a new place now. Million times better than my old one. You wanna come by and see it?”

“I—wait, you have a new  _place_? How? When? Who is—”

“Rhys,” Tim interrupted, “this’ll be easier to explain in person….how about you come by. Whenever you’re free?”

“I’m free all the time,” Rhys said a little too quickly, but to be honest, he was more than curious about what exactly Tim had been up to while he’d been away at college.

It sounded like they had a lot of catching up to do.

* * *

When Rhys had thought about the kind of apartment Tim might get, he’d imagined a smaller, quainter looking place—maybe a rented bungalow where part of the expense was waived on the agreement the tenant would care for the resident cats.

Not the large, fancy, beachside condo that the address Tim had given him had led him to.

But when he knocked on the door, it was definitely Tim who opened it—and scooped him up in a big hug, those familiar strong arms wrapping around Rhys’ waist and lifting him up on his tip-toes.

“ _Whew_ , you’re a lot stronger than you used to be, huh?” Rhys wheezed when Tim finally plunked him back down on his heels, grin still bright. His freckles were practically twinkling— _jeez_ , when had he last seen Tim this happy?

“There’s a gym on the first floor, it’s  _great_ , fucking state-of-the-art, been spending a lot of time there.” Tim waved him into the apartment proper, shutting the door behind him with the  _beep_  of the electronic lock.

“Holy  _shit_ ,” Rhys blurted as Tim lead him into the massive living room, leaving Rhys to seriously wonder about whether his friend had just decided to shack up in a set for a luxury home and garden magazine. Only the handful of touches—such as the video game system set into the oakwood entertainment center, as well as the lavish, full-color movie posters and vintage cheese and beefcake pictures alike framed on the walls—signified that something other than aesthetic and dust lived here.  

“I mean….talk about an  _upgrade_.”

Tim bobbed on his feet, blue kitten socks squeaking against the hardwood floors. Practically giddy.

“You’re telling me.  _So_  much better. I mean, when Grandma died there was no point in me staying there any longer anyway. The place was already a mess—you remember.” Tim shuddered. Honestly, Rhys hadn’t been over to the Lawrence place in quite some time, the last visit being long before he left for college. As much as he’d always liked Tim and enjoyed his company, his grandma was well….not to speak of the dead, but she’d been a stone-cold  _bitch_. He wasn’t that broken up about it and thankfully neither was Tim.

“No more piles of ancient newspaper and hidden rusty buzz saws…you remember when I had to get a tetanus shot? God. I’m glad to be out of there and in  _here_ ,” Tim grinned, throwing out his arms in the wide open space. “It’s  _soooo_ much nicer.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Rhys snickered. Tim’s lips quirked up secretively, leaning in and whispering though they were the only ones in the apartment.

“You know…if you want to…we totally can.”

“Really?” It wouldn’t be Rhys first time drinking alcohol. His uncle had given him a sip of Southern Comfort when he was twelve and he’d been to a couple frat parties over the course of the semesters whenever he’d had a break. But drinking and chilling in Timothy’s fancy new house sounded a lot more appealing than either of those experiences had been.

“My brother’s super chill. He lets me borrow his beer as long as it stays in the apartment and I promise not to go out while I’m wasted.” Tim led Rhys towards the sleek kitchen, opening the huge steel fridge and pulling two beers out of the clanking drawer.  

“Hold on, I’m gonna heat us up some stuffed mushrooms from last night. Bro’s a fucking  _amazing_ cook.” Tim waved Rhys back off to the living room as he grabbed a glass tupperware from the fridge and kicked the door shut.

Rhys was still a year shy of the drinking age, but in the privacy of the apartment and with Tim’s insistence he accepted the beer from his friend and took a seat on the couch. He peered at the label as Tim buzzed the leftovers in the microwave, snorting at the almost pointlessly ornate design of a unicorn dabbed in gold leaf and surrounded by diamonds and twirling Celtic branches one might find reproduced in a history book.

“Here, catch,” Tim called as he appeared in the doorway, tossing something weighty and metallic in Rhys’ direction. He caught it deftly, raising an eyebrow at the design. Unicorn themed, like the label, with the opener proper sticking out of the horse’s head where the horn would normally be. Rhys stuck tongue out between his lips as he nudged the bottle opener underneath the cap, carefully popping it open.

“So, what’s with the unicorn thing?” Rhys waved the opener as Tim rejoined him on the couch with his own beer and a plate of steaming hot stuffed mushrooms. Tim sat with a snicker, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

“That’s Jack’s. He’s got kind of a unicorn obsession.”

“Jack?”

“I…my brother? Jack? You didn’t forget, did you?” Tim popped the cap off his own beer with a hiss. Rhys’ brow twitched, taking a sip of the beer as if it’d help him remember.

“I….vaguely…but I don’t think I ever met him?” He recalled a fuzzy mention of Tim’s brother at some point, maybe a childhood picture or two. But nothing concrete. Obviously, not enough to help him even remember that Tim even  _had_  a sibling _._

“You wouldn’t have. Jack’s lived abroad for years, mostly doing business and things like that…” Tim scratched the back of his head. “For awhile now he’s been moving up the ranks of…well…he recently got promoted to head of programming at Hyperion.”

“Hyperion? Are you  _serious_?” Rhys balked. He had no idea that Tim’s  _older brother_  worked for one of the biggest bio-engineering companies on the entire planet. Hyperion was the kind of group so big and with its fingers in so many pots that even mentioning its name was cause for controversy back on his campus. Rhys liked to think he had a more nuanced view of the company now than he had as a teenager, but its power and unusual flashiness for such a serious business still had a hold on him.

Not to mention, Hyperion internships were some of the most sought after for programmers and engineers. Rhys had tried for one earlier in the year as a lark, and the little hope he’d had at getting it had been dashed fairly quickly. Hyperion was  _very_  efficient in its rejection.

Tim gulped down a mouthful of beer, scrubbing the foam from his lips.

“Yeah, like I said…he’s pretty far up there now…so that’s why we have such a nice place. Jack put up the money for it. Bought it outright.”

“H-he  _bought_  it?” Rhys was lucky he’d already swallowed his beer, otherwise he might’ve choked. He’d never heard of anyone just… _buying_  an apartment. Was that even legal?

“Yeah, so no worries about rent. Jack still wants me to get a job to help with food, but well…it’s not exactly crucial you know?”

“Oh my god. How rich is he?”

“He works for  _Hyperion_ , Rhys. So….gonna say….pretty damn rich. Rich enough that I don’t have to worry about ever living in a place like the old house ever again.”

Tim turned a little sideways on the couch, leaning in like he was about to tell a secret.

“You know…Grandma was pretty old, but it wasn’t like she was  _dying_  or anything.” Tim hummed, smacking his lips in between sips of beer. “I kind of wonder sometimes if like…Jack somehow had her killed.”

Rhys snorted, shoving his shoulder.

“You’re not serious.”

“ _Mmmm_. Maybe not,” Tim’s throat bobbed as he drained his beer, letting the empty bottle dangle from his fingers. “But if anyone could do it and make it look like an accident…”

“ _Please_ , Tim, he’s not fucking James Bond,” Rhys snickered, closing one eye and peering into the depths of his own bottle. An inch or so of liquid sloshed at the bottom, and Tim had already finished his first beer—he really needed to catch up.

He leaned his head against the back of the couch, dramatically tipping the beer up like he was trying to balance it on his lips as he chugged, Tim’s giggly chanting nearly making him snort it up his nose before he finished it with a gasp.

“ _That’s_  good stuff right there…I think…” Rhys burped as he wedged the empty bottle between the couch cushions, choosing to sit and rub the fuzzy suede of the couch while Tim got up and grabbed them another pair of beers.

By the time the front door clicked open he and Tim had already drunk half of their bottles respectively, giggling like children as they reminisced about their high school days. Rhys perked up at the sound of footsteps echoing against the wooden floors, followed by the jangle of the trash can and a smooth, masculine voice.

“Are you getting into the IPA again Timmy? I swear if you keep this up I’m gonna make you pay for i— _oh_.”

_Oh._

Rhys pulled the lip of the bottle away from his mouth, momentarily frozen by the man that had suddenly walked through the doorway into the living room.

For a moment, he wondered if maybe he had been right all along and Tim was shacking up somewhere he wasn’t supposed to, and this was the realtor stripped from the billboards and sent to kick them out.

But then Tim snorted, rolling his eyes as he tipped the beer all the way back down his throat.

“Eat me, Jack, you wanna keep me out so bad you can put a lock on the drawer.” He smacked his lips with a satisfied gasp as Rhys stared, recognition dawning on his face.

So this was Jack.

Globe-trotter Jack. Wealthy beyond his wildest dreams Jack. Programming head at Hyperion Jack.

 _Handsome_  Jack.

Oh God. He  _was_  handsome.

It was as if Tim was the base model for one of those video game where you could customize your own character and someone had pulled and pinched and yanked him out until he was taller, broader, and more angular. Rhys could still see the similarities in their face and eyes—honestly, they looked more alike than most siblings Rhys had encountered did—but Jack was sharper, his chin more prominent and shoulders broader and cheeks wiped clean of the charming little freckles that dotted Tim’s face.

Rhys knew he must have seen a picture of Jack somewhere in the five years that he’s known Tim, but he doesn’t remember being this  _struck_  by his appearance before. Maybe he was the kind of guy more suited to real life than photography, with a kind of magnetism accenting an already aesthetically pleasing picture. Though Rhys can’t imagine that, if he were to be a creep and snap a picture right now, that Jack would look bad. It seemed as impossible as perpetual motion.

Maybe he was exaggerating. Rhys had heard of “beer goggles” before, but even if he was drunkenly inflating Jack’s handsomeness to godly proportions, well, that still meant that he had to be pretty damn  _hot_. He felt on the verge of a heart attack right now, so even if sober-vision Jack ended up popped down a few pegs, he would definitely still send Rhys’ affection aflutter.

What was it Rhys had said earlier? That Jack was no James Bond? He took it back. He had the look, the international intrigue, the fancy clothes and commanding presence. He could very well be a super spy. At the very least he should be on TV. If Jack appeared on a commercial trying to sell him as expensive as cologne or as mundane as dish soap his bank account would drop just as fast as his boxers.

“Your little friend okay there?” Jack grunted, jabbing a finger in Rhys’ direction. Though he’d been addressing Tim instead of him, Rhys still nodded, flighty little smiles fighting with his need to appear cool as he did so.

“Oh, he’s just a little drunk is all.” Tim waved off, gathering up the empty beers laying around the couch and coffee table.

“What, is it his first time? Kid looks like a hamster staring down a rabid dog.”

Jack cocked his head, narrowing his eyes at Rhys. God, the way his tanned skin crinkled around eyes piercing as the tropic waters Rhys envisioned him lounging around on, his shirt off and hopefully broad pecs and strong, lifting arms on display and maybe even glistening with coconut oil coating Rhys’ hands—

“Hah, holy crap, I think you  _broke_  him,” Jack snickered, suddenly  _really_  close to Rhys with a palm as big as his head waving right in front of his eyes. As Rhys blinked, he caught the glimpse of a couple details he’d somehow missed from gawking at Jack earlier—a sliver of a ring banded with amber and set with some kind of pretty blue stone, and a slightly faded azure tattoo encircling his wrist. He was starting to count the hairs on Jack’s forearm and note how they glinted with a sliver of the afternoon sun filtering from the windows when Jack’s hand moved and instead planted atop his head.

“What’s your name, pumpkin? If you’re that wasted, I can always make something up,  _buuuut_  Timmy will tell you not everyone is a fan of that.” Jack ruffled Rhys’ hair, his head moving with the force behind his hand. Rhys blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze of both the beer and the sudden rush of cologne wafting from Jack’s neck from his brain so he could respond without tripping over his tongue.

Jack leaned back away from Rhys as Tim returned, bringing Jack a beer of his own as well as a glass of water. The older man grinned brightly, taking the beer from his brother’s hands and clapping him on the shoulder.

“Aw, there’s a good boy, Timmy-Tams.”

Tim rolled his eyes.

“ _Don’t_ ,” he sighed, taking a sip of water, “you better not be giving him a terrible nickname too.”

Jack rubbed his chin, a fiendish, thinking grin crawling over his face.

“Give me a sec, and I’m sure I can think of  _something_ appropriate for your little friend.”

Rhys’ heart fluttered, hoping he could pass of the blush as baby’s-first gin blossoms. He tipped his chin towards his chest, shyly hiding his face into his hoodie like a turtle.

“Here Rhys, have some water,” Tim sat down besides him, passing the glass of water.

“Don’t do it, kiddo, didn’t he tell ya? He totally backwashes.” Rhys spluttered slightly as Tim shot Jack an annoyed look.

“I do  _not._ And stop, you’re gonna make him choke.”

“Hate to break it to you, Tim-Tums, with a face like that he’s probably used to it.”

“Oh fuck off, Jack,” Tim growled as he took the glass from Rhys’ lips, earning him a cuff on the head from his brother.

“ _Language_ , kiddo, jeez.” Tim flipped him off as Jack plunked down on the other side of Rhys, arm slinging over the back of the couch.  

“You staying for dinner, Rhysie-pie?” Rhys could feel Jack’s breath against his ear.

“Uh,  _um_ , can I…?”

“I dunno,  _can_  you?” Tim swatted Jack’s leg.

“You’re welcome to if you want. I’m sure Jack won’t be able to resist showing off his cooking skills to someone new.”

“College boy isn’t a vegetarian or something, is he? You know how those places can get. Cause I’m making filet and I ain’t going out to buy you a salad if you’re gonna whine.”

“N-No! Um, meat is  _great_.”

“Heh. Ain’t that the truth.”

Rhys perked and nodded.

“Yeah. I love meat!”

“Shout it to the heavens, kiddo, amen,” Jack winked, patting Rhys’ knee before rising to stand. His fist clenched at the contact, feeling sweaty underneath his layers of clothes. Rhys’ heart leapt for a moment as Jack reached down, only to grab Tim by the wrist and tug him to his feet.

“Upsy-daisy, Timmy, I ain’t cooking while you too laze around getting wasted on  _my_  beer.”

“ _Ugh_ , fine,” Tim moaned, “lemme take a leak first though, ‘kay?”

“You’re gonna break the seal, pumpkin!” Jack called after him, smirking as he turned back to look at Rhys, who still sat, swaying slightly.

“You got enough mental faculty to help me out with dinner, kiddo, or should we just let you marinate for a bit longer? I can put on the TV if you need help zoning out.”

“N-No! I’d love to help!” Rhys blurted, stumbling up to his feet and willing his bones not to turn to jelly. Literally going weak-kneed around Jack would be embarrassing.

He followed the man into the kitchen, awkwardly supporting himself against the granite countertop as he dumbly watched Jack flit about, pulling ingredients and scattering them out in a pattern of composed chaos. Though he’d offered, he wasn’t sure  _what_ exactly to do to help and his voice was kind of stuck in his throat as he watched the fabric of Jack’s blazer pull and crinkle with each of his movements. God, it looked  _expensive_ and he really wanted to touch it. Run his hand up Jack’s back until he got to the sculpted whirlwind of hair twirling up his head in a style that was either meticulously crafted or simply sprayed into place right after waking. If Jack used any product, Rhys wanted to know.

The toilet flushed somewhere in the distance of the apartment. Rhys wasn’t sure if he wanted Tim to hurry up, or take his time washing his hands.

Rhys’ attention snapped away as Jack slapped three ruby-red, glistening cuts of meat against a rosewood cutting board, humming to himself as he raided the steel rack of spices and dashed them together in a small steel bowl. He tossed them with deft fingers, shaking the seasoning out on each flank of the meat, massaging it into the raw flesh.

Rhys looked away, staring pointedly at his fuzzy reflection in the toaster as Jack suddenly turned to look over his shoulder, flicking excess seasoning off his fingers with a faint  _splat_.

“Aw crud. Tim-Tums!” Jack called over the distant sound of the faucet running.

“ _What_?”

“I forgot the frikkin’ veggies in the Porsche, can you grab ‘em for me?”

Rhys heard the bathroom door creak open, Tim’s voice a lot less muffled.

“You can’t get them yourself? Really?”

“I got meat juice all over my hands, kiddo! You want me to stain the suede?”

“Ugh. Fine!” Tim called, appearing briefly through the kitchen doorway as he crossed the hallway from the bathroom to the front door. Jack tossed his keys expertly as Tim passed by, the man skillfully catching it. The click of the unlocked door swinging shut behind him left Rhys consciously aware of the reality that he was now alone in the apartment with Jack.

His fingers gripped the edge of the countertop, eyes hoping to return back to the toaster or one of the many other shiny appliances in the kitchen, but as he sought out a mundane distraction suddenly a crisp white shirt and undone collar and hint of bronze chest filled his view, and  _oh no_ , he was a goner.

“So this is the kid Timmy’s always been telling me about…lemme get a good proper look at you, pumpkin.”

Suddenly, Jack’s finger was on his jawline, tilting Rhys’ head up. His skin was a little greasy, a little wet from where he’d been handling the meat. It left a little trail over Rhys’ own skin as Jack started to stroke down to his chin, eyes searching Rhys’ face—for what, the young man didn’t know, but Jack must have found it quickly, because his sharp grin soon spread from cheekbone to cheekbone.

“Hah. Whoops. Sorry about that.” Jack lifted his fingers from Rhys’ jawline, rubbing the oily tips together so close to Rhys’ lips he cold nearly taste the fat. “Ah well. What’s a little meat juice between friends?” Jack’s eyes glimmered, showing off the slightly different hues that might just be a trick of the kitchen lighting.

“And we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Bet you’ve made a lot of new friends in college, huh Rhysiekins?”

Rhys nodded, voice sticking again.

Jack moved in closer, hands bracing on either side of Rhys, fingers close to the young man’s own on the granite of the counter’s edge. He could feel Jack’s ring brushing up against the side of his palm—it was warm, like his hand.

“You like ‘Rhysiekins,’ pumpkin? Or should I keep trying to find the perfect little nickname for you?” Jack’s voice was definitely slumming into a throaty purr that had the hair on the back of Rhys’ neck standing up. His voice managed to claw out of his throat but stumbled into his mouth, his eyelids fluttering like a hummingbird gorged on nectar.

“You have any plans for the summer, cupcake? Internships, jobs, volunteer work, partying?”

Rhys felt hypnotized, just barely able to eke out a response because he felt like Jack wanted it.

“Uh…n-not really…just gonna kind of hang out, you know?”

Jack’s hand lifted, pinning one of Rhys’ against the counter. He tapped it softly, sending blood pumping in time up to Rhys’ already full cheeks.

“ _Mm._  Then I expect to see a lotta you around this place, ‘kay?”

“Y-Yes sir.” It slipped out before Rhys could stop it. Jack threw back his head and laughed, body swaying away from Rhys’.

“Sir! Oh, I  _like_  you kiddo.”

Jack liked him. He  _liked_  him. Rhys couldn’t stop the grin that split across his face even if he wanted to.

By the time Tim returned from the car, arm slung with reusable bags full of vegetables, Jack had moved away from Rhys to preheat the oven and grab another beer from the fridge. Rhys nodded at Tim’s silent question as he set the bags of produce on the counter, sure to stifle any lingering blush lest his best friend get a hint of what had happened between him and Jack. As hot as the man was, Rhys had  _just_  re-connected with Tim. He didn’t want to risk that.

But as he finished washing and handing the silky vegetables over to Jack—who deftly grasped them in his huge hands and sunk his blade into their juicy, yielding flesh—Rhys couldn’t help but feel like he’d finally found something he  _really_  wanted to do this summer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm going to try to expand this into a longer fic. I have ideas where I want to take this so I would love to hear your feedback on this chapter and if you think it's going in an interesting direction.
> 
> Please enjoy Rhys' struggle not to make bad choices.

Rhys had eaten filet mignon only once before—at his his graduation dinner last year, in a bid to look fancy and with the blessing of his parents, who insisted he get whatever he wanted. So Rhys had scanned the menu for the most expensive, decadent dish and settled on the filet, which came soaked in a wine sauce and topped with a lump of crab and stewed mushrooms. The whole affair had melted like butter on his tongue and almost left him with no room for dessert— _almost_ , because Rhys didn’t want to end up the kind of guy who didn’t enjoy dessert. 

Up until last night, it’d been the best steak and overall best meal he’d ever had, but it’d been knocked out of both podiums by what he’d had at Tim’s place. Even a day later, lying on his bed with his belly now instead full of his mom’s cooking, he couldn’t stop tasting it.

Rhys didn’t know why. He was no chef, and the meal Jack had made for him and Tim had been far more humble and less expensive than the one he’d had at the fancy restaurant. But from the moment the steak had touched his tongue his taste buds had come alive, and he’d just barely been able to restrain himself from asking for seconds, not wanting to appear rude or gluttonous. Especially with the way Jack had watched him from across the table, resting his chin on one hand as he fed himself steak into the side of his mouth, chewing with a smile on his face. 

“It’s good, isn’t it, Rhysie?”

He’d nodded, mouth too full of steak to respond politely, causing Jack to laugh and nudge Tim’s shoulder. 

“That’s how you really know it’s good. When their mouth is too full to give you a proper answer.”

Rhys blushed at the memory.

Jack was the kind of guy who just… _said_ things. Like he didn’t care how he sounded or if he might be taken the wrong way. He just put it all out into the open, leaving Rhys to decide whether he’d take the bait or let it dangle.  

Of course Jack was probably rich enough that no one dared call him out on the things he said, but still. The way he spoke was just so….effortless. Like he didn’t care how much he made Rhys nervous. Like Jack _knew_ how he felt, even when Rhys tried his best to hide it.

He hugged his pillow to his chest, staring at the headboard of his bed. 

_Ugh_.  Ridiculous. He was looking  _way_  too far into it. Jack had probably just been ribbing him the way he ribbed everyone. He’d teased Tim plenty during dinner too. That was just the way he talked. 

All that stuff aside though, Jack was…pretty cool.

Rhys wasn’t sure why he hadn’t paid much attention to him before. The only memories he retained of Jack were vague at best, but maybe that was why. Maybe he just hadn’t been around enough of the time for Rhys to care. After all, he looked a lot older than Tim, and the last thing an older boy had probably wanted to do at the time would be hang out with his little brother and his dorky friend. 

And Rhys had been _really_ dorky. He’d been the kind of kid to obsess over robotics and computers as a preteen, while living on a diet of soda and pizza and not caring much about his appearance until he’d gotten his first growth spurt. Now he was still similarly obsessed with machines and computers, to the point where he’d been thinking about majoring in Engineering with a focus on robotics, except now he knew how to groom himself and wear clothes tailored to fit. Brains couldn’t go much of anywhere without networking and charisma, after all. 

Rhys let go of his pillow and rolled onto his back, the glow-in-the dark stars on his ceiling shining faintly in the dimmed light of the bedroom. He’d stuck them up there when he was twelve, and just left them there, arranged in the configuration of Scorpius. It’d been his favorite constellation as a kid and even now it captured his imagination enough that he didn’t want to take it down. 

He heard the door on the other side of his house close as he laid there, even through the layers of walls separating them. He knew from years of planning to stay up after bedtime that it was his parent’s door, though as a young adult he could stay up as late as he wanted and bear all the consequences in the morning—or afternoon, depending on just _how_ late he ended up burning the midnight oil. Mom and Dad both had work pretty early in the morning but Rhys had nothing to do and nowhere to be so he sat there in the fairly quiet house, staring up at the flat stars stuck to his ceiling. 

His hand rested aimlessly on his belly, scratching an itch on his happy trail. He hummed, licking his tongue out between his lips. He rubbed his fingers down between his hips, picking with indecision at his waistband. 

Rhys couldn’t deny the tingling in his stomach but Jack was the only thing swimming to his mind as he fiddled with the boxers. He shifted uncomfortably, his legs pulling up and sliding down alternately, his feet rubbing against his rumpled sheets. 

It seemed really wrong to jerk it off to Jack. Like, really wrong and messed up, even if nobody would ever know. Tim was his _friend_ , and though they hadn’t seen each other in a long time, he was looking forward to maybe reconnecting and hanging out more, and even if Tim didn’t know _he_ would know and it would just make things…. _awkward_.

Rhys closed his eyes. Okay. Okay. Time to think of someone else. _Anyone_ else. 

Well. Guys with nice arms and sturdy chests were pretty high on his list. Guys with muscles you could see underneath their shirts.  Big and strong enough that they could pick you up like a doll and push you up against the wall or down onto the bed. Rhys had hooked up with some guy near the beginning of the semester with a build like that, and while he hadn’t picked Rhys up and tossed him about like he’d hoped he would, it’d still been pretty hot. 

_Okay_. Rhys breathed in, out. _Good start._ He slipped his hand beneath his boxers, ankles crossing over each other near the foot of the bed. He knocked his other hand against his nightstand, groping about for his usual lotion and box of tissue. 

He could appreciate some nice hair, too. Not too short, not too long, just right enough to weave your fingers through and tug. Soft enough to tell it was well-cared for but not too mussed up with product that it felt sticky and clumpy and unpleasant. Hair he could grab to ground himself in the throes of pleasure. 

_So right, draw on that. That was good._ He grasped the base of his dick as it twitched, the tingling warmth in his belly now bristling into a full-grown flame. The head of his cock already felt too sensitive against the fabric of his boxers, but he didn’t want to risk blue-balling if he exposed his cock to the weirdly cold air in his room. Rhys didn’t know why this one corner of the house got chillier than the rest, but he usually compensated through piles of blankets and constant socks. 

He liked to keep his socks on whenever he hooked up. The guy could take off his pants or shirt or whatever he saw fit, but Rhys liked his socks on. His toes curled in the current pair— sea blue and patterned with little orange creamsicles—as he imagined his skinny legs slung over powerful shoulders as his ass was probed and slicked and readied for the waiting head of the cock. 

He bit into his lower lip as he started stroking proper, the sound of his hand rubbing against his shaft softened by the lotion slicked on his palm. He had to be quiet lest his parents hear through the walls, but if he were on his own with a handsome man plowing into him from above he wouldn’t keep it in. Rhys liked to be loud, to hear the sound of his own voice reverberating around the walls until his lover pressed lips harshly to his own to shut him up and swallow down his moans like they tasted as good as they sounded. 

Rhys soon lost himself in the fantasy, hips jerking up into his hand as his body trembled, the feeling in his stomach winding tighter at the thought of being helplessly penetrated. 

He imagined a warm, slightly scratchy chin rubbing up against the side of his jaw just before he got kissed. His lips parted in a quiet groan. 

With the image in his head it didn’t take long for him to cum, jerking off into the tissue as his hips thrust up into the air one last time, before flopping back against the bed. Rhys panted, mouth curled in a dazed smile. 

Now sleepy and relaxed thanks to his orgasm, Rhys tossed the used tissue into the trash can and tucked himself back into his boxers, before curling back under his blankets and nuzzling against his pillow. He was out like a light within moments, mind blissfully empty of anything but pleasure and calm. 

* * *

Rhys woke up late in the morning, thanks to the warmth of the blankets that kept him sleepy even as sunlight filtered through his window. Eventually his stomach rumbled loud enough to convince him to get up, and he dragged himself to the kitchen, sleepily scratching his chest as he poured a bowl of cereal.

Settling back into the ritual of home was a bit weird. Back at college, Rhys’ habits were a bit more regimented, considering he was on his own to make and maintain his own schedule, but at home he could take it slow and relax. Especially on days when he had no places to be, no errands to do—which were most days. 

He took the morning at his leisure, slurping the sweet milk from the bottom of his cereal bowl before sliding into the soft cushions of the couch with his laptop. A cup of hot tea steamed pleasantly on the side table—Rhys had still not let the stresses of college push him over into the coffee team. He didn’t want to end up like Vaughn, one auditingfinal away from crushing Adderall into his americano. 

Earl Greywould do the trick, at the very least until his junior year. 

Rhys checked his school email, then his personal email. He had an offer from the shaving supply website he’d bought his dad’s Christmas present with, a shipping update for a pair of shoes he’d ordered last week, and some updates from the college job board he’d signed up with. He’d trashed the first two and saved the rest for later before moving on to aimlessly distract himself with his social media profiles until he gave in with a sigh and decided to type in the name that’d been swimming around his head ever since he’d finished brushing his teeth.

“Jack Lawrence” had more than his fair share of search results. 

His Wikipedia entry popped up first, with the usual sparse background information and no picture. It didn’t even have Jack’s birthday or how old he was, and all info of his exploits with Hyperion were summarized in basic text with any juicy or interesting bits left out. Rhys frowned and clicked back, scrolling down the rest of the search page.

A couple articles from Business Insider mentioned Jack’s name in tandem with Hyperion’s stock trajectory and expected growth, which was cool and there he found out what Jack’s actual job title was—COO, which Rhys recalled was the guy just as important as the CEO except in name—but that didn’t exactly scratch his itch. 

_Scroll scroll scroll_. 

Rhys skimmed through the rest of the similar results until finally, near the bottom of the page, his eyes fell on an article that made them widen in interest. 

“Jack Lawrence—the bioengineering world’s most dashing businessman—shares his secrets.”

From mother-fucking GQ. 

He’d never clicked on a link so fast.

As he scrolled past the title, Rhys briefly noted the interview’s date to a few months ago, back in mid-February—holiday proximity enforced by the weighty opening paragraph referring to Jack’s desirability and bachelor status, which seemed interesting enough for a quick skim but with the bait of Jack’s own words starting in italics below, he quickly passed it by to get onto the good stuff.

_“Well-tailored and expensive as the suit is, its still a shame to hide the physique Jack Lawrence has so painstakingly retained despite his cushy job as Hyperion’s eminent COO—something that he, with a cocksure smile and carefree toss of the head, credits to an intermittent diet of organic juicing, turkey burgers, and vicodin”_ —yada yada yada, moving on. 

Though the image the interviewer painted of Jack was nice, it’s a little redundant when the article was already peppered with professional images taken of the man in question and _wow_ , Jack really was photogenic. Rhys had theorized he could be a model or a movie star when they’d first met, but now as he read scrolled through the article he was sure. Jack grinned at the camera like he knew about both the adulation soaked in the article and the snarky way he responded to the questions. 

Each picture sat underscored with a little caption listing the brand and cost of every piece of clothing Jack wore—as if dressing like him could somehow make you _be_ like him. Rhys found himself less concerned with the monetary value than how well the blazer cinched in around the Jack’s waist and flared about his hips in one photo, or how what had to be a carefully posed picture with the popped open collar showing off half of his scapulastill managed to look natural even as it brazenly advertised designer brands. 

Rhys wasn’t sure if these photos had been taken for the purpose of the article or just stripped from a random shoot and stuck in there. Regardless of the reason, Rhys enjoyed them, the images almost distracting him from the interview himself. He blinked and scrolled down and tried to keep reading. 

_“_ **_So, how does it feel to be here in the States again? Has there been a bit of a culture shock coming back?_ **

_Eh? I mean, you spend half your life globe-trotting and all that stuff tends to be a bit of a blur, you know?  You get used to it. It’s like you got different brains for different places and soon enough you learn how to switch like that. Sure this place ain’t no Paris, no Milan, no but hey—you know, it’s home. Though more than once lately I started ordering in French at frikkin’ Starbucks._

**_You speak French?_ **

_Oh yeah. You gotta pick up the gist of things if you’re gonna survive outside your comfort zone. ‘Cause if you don’t know what you’re doing you might try to buy a cigar and get someone dropping to their knees to give you a BJ._

**_Sure, sure._ ** _”_

Even through the carefully edited text, the interviewed seemed nervous **.** Rhys understood, having been face-to-face with Jack himself. The guy was really….something. 

Or maybe he was just projecting. After all, Jack’s eyes were piercing even in photographs, like he wanted to look right at Rhys.

_“_ **_Now, last year you were on Forbes list of 30 Under 30, where they noted you were one of the few on the more mature end of the spectrum who hadn’t yet been engaged or married. So I have to ask—is there a Mrs. Lawrence in the picture, yet?_ **

Rhys huffed at the interviewer’s choice in question, rolling his eyes away from the screen. _Really?_ You have alone-time with someone as cool as Jack Lawrence and waste time asking him about something as typical as _marriage_?

He tapped his chin and fluttered air through his lips, wondering if he should bother reading the rest of the article. After a moment, he put aside his annoyance and kept going. 

_“You know, I’ve never really been one to stick to the beaten path, y’know? I mean come on, you think you get here—rich, innovative, irresponsibly handsome—by just listening to what mom and dad said? Go off to college, grad school, get married, squirt out some kids, blah blah and so on? That ain’t my scene._ _But to throw you a bone…let’s say whoever gets to bag my name is gonna have to really show me something special_.

**_Of course. Only the best for Hyperion’s COO, right?_ **

_Naturally.”_

From here the interview drifted into Jack’s recent business prospects, reiterating some of the information Rhys’ had read in some of the other stories while adding a bit more personal detail. Coming from Jack’s mouth, Rhys found himself more invested than he had been browsing through the comparatively stale reports.  

**_“Now there’s been a video that’s gone viral showing off a recent test of Hyperion cybernetics. People seem two minds about it. Does public opinion and social media affect development of these products? Is it hard to it shut out when you need to?_ **

_I mean I’ve got a whole group of people dedicated to keeping their eyes peeled on the public so yeah, I’d say we take it into consideration But the prototype’s gotta get done no matter what some college kid’s hot take might be, you know? It’s a balance, learning when to care and when to not give a damn.”_

They’d talked about Hyperion’s advances briefly in Rhys’ biomedical elective, as they had their fingers stuck in a hell of a lot of pies. Rhys even remembered a couple of articles passed out in class reporting on their cybernetic research in particular, taking a closer look at their line of prosthetic enhancements. Rhys didn’t remember a cybernetic demonstration video, though? Maybe he’d just missed it in the chaos of the semester. 

Rhys wanted to hear more from Jack about his company’s work, but he could tell as he read on that he and the interviewer seemed to have different priorities. 

_“_ ** _Back to something a little more personal. It’s just around time for Valentine’s Day, after all. Do you have advice for any enterprising young women out there looking to steal your hea_** _”—fuck_ , this guy wouldn’t let up on the fucking romance angle, would he? Rhys clenched his teeth in frustration. Was he really just laying it on thick due to the fact the interview was conducted in February? That seemed like a stupid reason to waste such an opportunity.

Thankfully, Jack put him in his place in the next line. 

_“Look kiddo, if you got some heartfelt confession you gotta get off your chest go ahead and spill, otherwise I’m not too interested in answering any more E! Hollywood crap.”_

Rhys mentally pumped his fist. 

The article finished with a couple, considerably more timid questions from the interviewer, followed by a quick wrap-up and sign-off. Rhys scrolled past to the last picture on the page, but to his dismay it dared to put Jack in a frustrating, garish number—bright red and yellow leaves and stylish twigs against a dull, Thanksgiving brown—really hammering it home that they was more eager to sell clothes than complement Jack. That bugged him, even if the COO still managed to look good. More than good. Good enough that Rhys wanted to see him in something better, so he scrolled back all the way up to that first image of Jack in the blazer to really give it the once-over. This time, he noticed the ghost of something beneath his sleeve—either a tattoo or a an oddly geometricshadow against his wrist.

Did Rhys hope Jack had a tattoo? Maybe. As much as his parents hated them and looked down their nose at anyone who decided to get one, Rhys felt it could only add to Jack’s allure. 

Maybe next time he went over to Tim’s house he could snag a good look at it. 

His phone suddenly buzzed against the coffee table as if on purpose, trying to distract him from hyper-analyzing the pixels on Jack’s wrist. He ignored it successfully the first time, figuring a check-in text from his mom, but the second buzz casted doubt so he groped for his phone and swiped open his messages. 

It wasn’t his mom after all, but Tim. Rhys froze like he’d been caught, glancing furtively between his phone and the laptop screen still zoomed in on that picture of Jack.  

His fingers danced nervously over the reply box, studying the message Tim had sent.

_up to nothing today. u wanna hang?_

For a moment he considered blowing Tim off, making up a story and pretending he was busy for the day. It felt weird talking to Tim, even considering hanging out with him, all while he’d been ogling pictures of his brother only a couple seconds previously. Tim had no way of knowing what Rhys had been looking up, but he still felt weirdly exposed. 

After a moment of thought he shook the hair off his forehead, huffing petulantlythrough his nose as he rolled his eyes at himself. 

He was being stupid. Really. What was he even _doing_? He’d _just_ started to reconnect with Tim yesterday. Against all odds, things had gone pretty well, and now Tim was asking him to hang out again, and he was busy worrying about _Jack_ , of all people. Even after the article, he barely even _knew_ the guy. 

Rhys slapped his laptop closed and quickly tapped out a message to Tim.

_Sounds great when can you come over?_

* * *

Tim hadn’t set foot in the Somerset home in a long time. It seemed a good place to reconnect their friendship, considering all the sleepovers they’d spent together under the very same roof, staying up late, eating junk, doing things they shouldn’t and giggling all the while. Rhys had fond memories of blanket forts, sugary snacks, and video games, memories he’d love to rekindle and relive.

He settled down on the couch as he waited for Tim, killing time watching television and eating another bowl of cereal until his phone chimed with a text and sent him hopping to his feet. 

Tim grabbed his hand and pulled him in for a hug the moment Rhys opened the door. He laughed and hugged Tim back, clapping him on the shoulder as he locked the doors behind them, already bubbling with excitement. 

It was a nice day out but, like most guys their age, they were planning to spend most of it inside.

“What’s in the bag?” Rhys asked as Tim sat down heavily on the couch.Tim smirked, holding up two fingers. 

“Drumroll, please.” Rhys patted his hands against his thighs in rapid succession until Tim was satisfied and unzipped the duffel with an eager “ _ta-dah_!” 

“Oh holy shit,” Rhys gawked as Tim pulled two sleek, black headsets out of the bag, “you’ve _got_ to be kidding me.”

“I know. Ain’t it great?” Tim grinned as he set both on the coffee table. “Jack got them for us. I guess Hyperion’s been really digging deep with Virtual Reality lately, so...he called it _research_.”

“I’ve never even _seen_ one of these in person.” Rhys raised his hand, in awe. “Can I touch it?”

“Go ahead, I mean it’s not like the Holy Grail or anything. You won’t disintegrate.” Rhys trailed his fingers down the glossy tech, humming in excitement. 

“It might as well be.” Rhys eyes glimmered greedily. “Like….wow.”

Tim let him fawn over the headsets for a moment before brushing his hands away. 

“How about we stop staring and hook these suckers up already?” He hopped over to the television, placing the sensor atop the entertainment center. “Get ready to have your mind _blown_.”

* * *

Rhys was pretty sure if he owned one of these VR machines he would never get any work done ever again, because by the time he took off the headset to rest his eyes for a moment and looked out the window the sun was already starting to set, casting the backyard in an amber glow. Rhys stood up, stretching his hands out over his head as something cracked in his back.

“Dude….you’re _seriously_ lucky. Wish I had a rich older brother,” Rhys teased as Tim removed his own headset and set it on the couch, clearly agreeing a break was in order. 

“Trust me, it’s not all fancy gadgets and nice cars. Lately keeps forgetting to replace the toilet paper. Guess overseas he had someone do that for him,” Tim scoffed as he followed Rhys’ lead and stretched his arms up over his head, shirt pulling a little up over his stomach. He flopped back down against the couch with a sigh, lips flattened into a line as he gazed out the same window into the backyard. 

“Jeez….time flies when you’re having fun, huh?” Rhys turned his head, noting that familiar wistfulness in Tim’s voice. It reminded him when they were kids, and had to part after a sleepover or playdate at Rhys’ house. Tim had been pretty dramatic about it back then, hugging onto Rhys’ arm and, when they were _really_ little kids, sometimes crying. 

Thankfully Tim didn’t sound ready to burst into tears. He acted a lot less sensitive than he had before, but even so Rhys could relate to that sadness, that reluctance as time passed too quickly. 

But they were both adults now, with a lot more freedom to do what they wanted and plenty of leeway when it came to plans. Rhys knew some people his age felt weird about the new responsibilities that came now that they weren’t kids anymore, but he couldn’t say he felt the same. He balanced the changes with the benefits pretty seamlessly.    

“You wanna grab something to drink or a snack or something? Mom went shopping yesterday so there’s gotta be something good in there.” Tim brightened and popped to his feet, quickly following Rhys into the kitchen.  

He hummed as he skimmed his fingers over the drink selection lined up in the fridge, grabbing a fresh liter bottle of Cactus Cooler and quickly pouring it into the fancy bottom-heavy glasses his dad saved to serve alcohol at house parties. It made Rhys feel like they were in some kind of high-class bar as he slid one down the counter towards Tim. 

“Sorry I don’t have any fancy beer or anything…I mean, dad has some stuff in the liquor cabinet _but_ I don’t wanna risk it, you know?”

“Risk it? You think your dad’s gonna kick you out for stealing his booze?”

“I dunno, maybe he’s had enough of me being such a _delinquent_.”

“Oh yeah, you? You’re a real rebel,” Tim snickered in between sips of his soda. “Well, if he does end up giving you the boot, I’ll take you in like the sad, sorry little straight-A student you are.”

“I’ll have you know, I got a B+ in Biochemistry first semester, and I only had _one_ mental breakdown,” Rhys countered as he kicked the fridge door shut behind him. 

Tim took a seat on the barstool next to the counter as Rhys leaned against the edge and swirled his own drink in the glass, watching the bubbles fizzle and pop. 

“You wanna stay for dinner? Mom and Dad are going out to the movies tonight after work so I figure we can just order in pizza?” Rhys slipped his phone out of his pocket, pulling up the ordering app he’d grown intimate with during the semester. “It won’t be as fancy as what you might get at your place, but…”

“What, you mean Jack’s stuff?” Tim snorted. “Look, just because he wants to show off and cook steak all the time doesn’t mean I’m gonna turn my nose up at some good pizza.”

“I dunno if it’ll be _good_ if you still have your freak anchovy lust.”

“You know, Rhys, they invented this idea called _compromise_ while you were off at college.” Tim smirked as he snatched the phone from Rhys’ hands, furiously editing the order. “I can get anchovies on just _one_ side, and you can get whatever pedestrian toppings you want on the other.”

_“_ Only if you eat the whole half yourself. I won’t have such a monstrosity in my house, my own fridge! I wouldn’t be able to take it.” He threw his hand over his eyes in mock dismay as Tim shoved the phone back against his chest and stuck out his tongue.

“Just pay for the food already, drama king.”

“So I’m paying for it? Freeloader.” 

“You know I’m _not_ ,” Tim shot back. “Besides, I think the game was more than enough payment.”

That was true. Tim hadn’t had to bring over the system--Rhys had his own functional, albeit slightly-out-date console they could’ve played on--but he’d done it anyway. Rhys was mostly joking, in any case.

“All right, but considered that chip cashed. I’m gonna remember it next time you come over, and you won’t be able to weasel out of paying if I have anything to say about it.” Rhys pulled up his credit card, already entered into the ordering app, and quickly sent it off. 

“Think we should be able to squeeze in one more game before pizza comes…you ready to lose again?” Rhys pushed off the counter, walking slowly, teasingly, back in the direction of the living room. Tim rolled his eyes but followed, sucking down the last of his soda with a refreshed sigh.  

“Hey, I think I’m due for a comeback.”

* * *

Rhys had worried it wouldn’t be easy to slide back into that familiarity he and Tim had enjoyed beforehand. College had changed so many things for him—friends, schedule, setting, et cetera. He’d managed to keep up with some of his high school friends, bonded with them through shared, school-related commiseration on social media, but Tim was a different story. Even in that last year of high school he’d seen him less and less as applications and testing had taking up most of his free time, with sleep consuming the rest.

Rhys didn’t regret any of that stuff, considering it’d gotten him into his dream school, but he did regret not seeing enough of Tim as he should have. 

They really had to make up for lost time. 

By the time the pizza arrived, Tim had actually lived up to his word and beaten Rhys a couple more times, giving him a bit more of a fighting chance in the mental score that Rhys had already kind of lost track of. When the smell of melting cheese and sizzling sauce filled the living room most competitive instinct flew out the window anyway, as they both realized just how hungry they were. Tim flopped back down on the couch as Rhys went to grab two plates and wound up catching Tim licking the little plastic table placed atop the pizza free of its clinging cheese and sauce once he returned. 

“You can’t wait the two second it takes for me to grab you a plate?” Tim shook his head and licked his lips as he pulled a slice, laden with anchovies, from the box. 

“It’s like an appetizer. Kinda whets the palate. It’s fancy stuff you wouldn’t understand, Rhys.”

“Cool,” Rhys plopped his own plain slice onto his plate, “enjoy your nasty fish food pizza.”

Tim crammed his slice into his mouth and playfully flipped Rhys the finger. He laughed and tore a handful of red pepper packets all over his pizza. 

_It really was easy._

Rhys flipped on a movie he’d recorded last night as he and Tim rubbed shoulders together and joked and jostled in laughter around mouthfuls of steaming hot pizza. 

_Just like old times._

For a moment Rhys worried it might be a bit weird to only offer a meal of Cactus Cooler and pizza after he’d eaten filet mignon and drunk fancy beer at Tim’s apartment only the night before, but by the smile on his face and the loose way he laughed and nudged Rhys’ ribs with his elbow and slid down into the saggy couch cushions until their legs pressed together—maybe Tim needed this. 

Rhys had definitely missed it. 

* * *

The sun had long started to set by the time Tim’s phone buzzed, interrupting a quiet moment in their movie. He fished it out of his pocket as Rhys paused the TV, glancing over at him.

“What’s up?”

Tim grimaced as he tapped something quick out onto the screen. 

“Jack’s here already.”

Rhys sat up straight, eyes flitting towards the front door.

“He’s here? Like, outside-outside?”

“Yeah. He dropped me off earlier but he was going off to…something or other, so he didn’t really stick around.” Tim shut off his phone with a _click_ , slipping it into his pocket as he rose to his feet. Rhys made a move towards the television, reaching up to grab the sensor off the entertainment center.  

“Suppose I should help you pack this up—don’t wanna keep him waiting, huh?”

“Nah, he can wait. Besides.” Tim shrugged his bag over his shoulder. “Jack just said  he wants you to hang onto it.”

Rhys nearly dropped the sensor in shock. He managed to keep hold and set it back down as he looked over his shoulders, eyes wide. 

“You’re _kidding_.”

“Swear that’s what he told me. I guess he figures I’m gonna be coming over here a lot, so maybe he doesn’t want me lugging it back and forth constantly? We’ve got plenty of game stuff back home, too. I mean, they’re not as cutting edge as that one is, but oh well.”

Tim set his phone down, lip sticking out slightly in question.

“He’s right, isn’t he? I’ll probably be spending a lot of time over here?”

“Y-yeah! Of course! You’re always welcome here like, today was _great_ , I’m just…” Rhys stuttered, his hands feeling numb. “Wow.”

“Yeah. Ain’t he the real pinnacle of generosity?” Tim chuckled. “Wouldn’t expect that from such a big-time businessman, right?” Rhys heard his phone buzz against in his pocket like an alarm. 

“You’d think he had somewhere to be or something….he probably just doesn’t wanna have to drive out and get me later. He turns into a real lazy-ass after five.” Tim sighed as he slapped the vibrating lump in his pocket. Rhys laughed softly as he walked to the door, shutting it behind him as he lead Tim out the entryway and into the front porch. 

Jack’s car was parked in the driveway like this was his house, the sleek coating of the Porsche reflecting the scattered clouds of the setting sky. The driver’s side window had been rolled down all the way, an arm folded casually atop it. Tan fingers drummed against the door, a golden watch winking beneath the cuff of a dark blazer. Rhys could barely see the rest of Jack’s body, shadowed by the roof of his car, but he felt him there. 

He gave Tim a quick, slightly numb hug goodbye, trying to play off the fluttering in his chest as he watched his friend trudge down the driveway with his bag bumping against his shoulder as he rounded the car towards the passenger’s seat. Rhys had just lifted his hand to wave at Tim, playful goodbye on his lips, when it happened. 

Jack suddenly leaned out of the shadows of the car and tipped down his sunglasses and stared, right at him. His teeth glow in the sunlight as if slicked in chrome and Rhys froze, wondering if Jack had been smiling the whole time. 

Any words he had spluttered and died in his throat, his fingers curling awkwardly in towards his palm. Jack’s teeth part in glee, and Rhys thought maybe he winked but Jack pushed his glasses so quickly back up his nose that it was hard to tell for sure. 

He watched as Jack sunk back into his seat, once again invisible save for the elbow resting against the car door as he gunned the engine and pulled back out of Rhys’ driveway, soon leaving the young man alone with little but the grind of asphalt and distant pulse of radio, then nothing. 

* * *

So it was that Rhys found himself in the same spot again for the second night in a row, lying on his back in bed and staring at the ceiling, only this time he didn’t even try to push Jack out of his mind.

He replayed the moment from earlier over and over again. Jack leaning out of the driver’s window. Hair moving slightly in the breeze but slow, kind of like kelp waving in the steady movement of the tide, backlit in the light shimmering from the sunset. 

Maybe he’s looking back with rose-colored glasses, though it happened only hours before. But Jack had looked almost ethereal as he watched Rhys and Tim say their goodbyes. Had Jack even said something? Rhys couldn’t remember. His mouth had moved but Rhys couldn’t recall any sound. He’d probably just smiled. 

Jack liked to smile. Most people did, duh, but Jack kept the smile on his face like he knew what it did to Rhys when he saw it. 

Part of him didn’t like being so transparent, but maybe Jack was just so sharp he could see right through Rhys no matter what he did. At the very least, it seemed like Tim didn’t suspect anything of Rhys’ feelings towards his brother. 

_If you could call lust a feeling_. 

He tilted his head to the side, rubbing the untouched, cool part of the pillow against his cheek as he stared aimlessly at his closet. He burped softly, the taste of grease and citrus soda dancing strange on his tongue. He grimaced and smacked his lips together. 

His parents were still out at the movies. Sometimes they grabbed ice cream afterwards. There was a good little ice cream place right by the theater. They might be awhile longer. 

Rhys rested his hand on his hip, rubbing the bone softly beneath his skin. 

He thought of Jack’s fingers, broad and blunt at the end, as they pinched the arm of his sunglasses and tilted them down his face like he was in a movie, with the golden light of the sun dancing on the arrogant swoopof his hair, and Rhys could almost see his breath pass between his intently pursed lips even though it’s warm out. 

A soft needy noise groaned from deep within Rhys’ throat. 

_He can practically smell the inside of Jack’s car, the leather of the seats strong and musky, as much a part of Jack as the cologne that clings to the collar of his shirt—_

He ground his palm to a halt just above his groin, fingers curling in hesitation.

But Tim. 

He’d had such a great day with Tim. Things were going better. Things were as easy as they’d ever been. He’d had a great day. 

His throat bobbed painfully against his skin. 

_So, why?_

Rhys hissed between his teeth and tried to stop, but his hand was already on his cock. 

Ten minutes later, he got up and turned off the light, changing his boxers in the dark before he laid back down atop his sheets, staring restless at the bright glow of Scorpius as he tried to get some sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and let me know what you think!


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